


sensitive's unravelling

by SiriCerasi



Series: hc_bingo [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: hc_bingo, Episode Tag, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Len Needs a Hug, Missing Scene, POV Leonard Snart, POV Sara Lance, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s01e05 Fail Safe, Post-Episode: s01e06 Star City 2046, Post-Episode: s01e07 Marooned, Rip is an asshole for manipulating Sara, Sara Needs a Hug, fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiriCerasi/pseuds/SiriCerasi
Summary: "Movie?" he asks, as though this were normal, as though they'd always been friends on a time travelling space ship, as though she hadn't almost killed a teammate today.Episode tags: 1x05, 1x06 & 1x07For my hc_bingo prompt "gaslighting".





	1. sometimes subtle

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about how Rip treats the team, Sara in particular, and how the writers treat their relationship. They are not good feelings, so if that's not your thing, feel free to move along.
> 
> [versions of violence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGncpm2s75Y) (alanis morissette)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 1x04+1x05 "White Knights" + "Fail-Safe", 1x06 "Star City 2046"

+++

_coercing_  
_or_  
_leaving_

+++

Her fists leave blood on the punching bag.

Sara doesn't notice. Doesn't care. She deserves this, deserves to hurt, to bleed for what she'd nearly done.

She'd nearly-

Her fist hits the wall this time, knuckles threatening to break, scream erupting from her throat before she can stop it. She thinks there's someone yelling her name, slams her fist into the wall again with a choked cry. Rests her forehead against the cold metal, tastes blood and bile and leans over retching, coughing as her stomach tries to empty and her lungs gasp for air.

"Jesus, Sara," she hears that voice say, footsteps getting too close. She straights dizzily, falls back against the wall as she turns and-

Snart. Of course it's Snart. But he doesn't look like he's going to lecture her, doesn't even have his normal leer. He looks… concerned, and Sara starts to laugh, or tries to laugh, but it turns into a heaving sob and suddenly he's beside her, one hand carefully placed on her shoulder, grip firm but hesitant.

"Hey." His drawl is all but gone, and it sobers her up. "You're a mess, Canary."

"Don't call me that." She hardly even recognizes her voice, choked and dripping with contempt.

Snart frowns, amends, "Alright, Sara. You're a mess."

She feels her face twist, squeezes her eyes shut and wipes angrily at her cheeks. _It's also… cold. Heartless._ There's bile in her throat as she tries to push past him, but he doesn't let her go, and she's afraid if she opens her mouth she'll throw up again.

"Sara." Soft. His voice is too soft, and she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve the concern in his eyes, doesn't deserve to take even a moment of comfort from him. She'd nearly-

Her stomach twists violently and she turns away to vomit up the little she'd managed to force down earlier today. Coughs and chokes and gasps for air, world spinning dizzily, afraid she'll fall-

Hands on her shoulders keep her upright, and she's too far gone to twist away. If this is how she dies, so be it; it's nothing more than she deserves.

But when her retching has died down the hand rubs along her back a few times, gently, too gently. She forces herself upright, closing her eyes against the wave of vertigo, and feels hands on both her shoulders again as she leans back into the wall.

"Sara, I need you to take a deep breath," she hears Snart say. Wants to scoff at how ridiculous that statement is, until she realizes there's no air in her lungs and panics. Eyes shoot open to meet blue and there's no anger there, no judgment. No disgust. Only concern, and she doesn't know what to make of it.

"I c-" she chokes. "C-c-an't." Later she will hate herself for that admission, but right now she can't _breathe_ and there's no air and the empathy written on his face is too much to turn away from, too necessary.

"You can," he says gently. He releases one shoulder, taking one of her hands and pressing it against his chest. "Try to match my breathing, alright? Close your eyes." She can't match, not even close, can hardly even gasp. But he doesn't give up, just stands there with her through what feels like hours of desperate attempts, choked off and sobbing.

And then, when she finally, finally takes a deep breath, he doesn't let her go. Just says softly, "Good. That's good." Sara takes another slow breath, feels tears on her cheeks and is too tired to care. "Hey…"

Sara starts to think about what she'd done, what she'd nearly done, how much she doesn't deserve this. Feels her breathing escalate again and suddenly finds his arms around her, her face buried, a hand gently cupping her head to his shoulder.

"Breathe," he murmurs, sound vibrating through him and into Sara. "Forget everything else, just for a minute. All you need to do right now is breathe." He rubs gentle circles against her back, rocking her a little as she crumbles, comes apart in his arms. "I've got you," he says, so soft. "Let me take care of everything, for just a few minutes. Let everything go."

She's sobbing now, harder than she has since dying, and she _doesn't deserve this comfort_. But Snart doesn't loosen his hold, not even a little, not even when Sara half-heartedly tries to pull away. She doesn't deserve this, but he's offering it anyway, and she's far too tired and in pain to refuse.

She's shivering in a cold sweat when she finally comes back to herself, to his arms still protective around her. She drags in a shuddering breath, sniffing softly, and this time he lets her slowly pull away.

He looks down at her, the concern still on his face, murmurs, "Hey there, birdie." She feels a smile tug at her lips, lets him reach up to brush at her cheeks with this thumbs. She shivers violently again with cold, sees him frown.

"You really need to get cleaned up, huh?" She makes a face, hitting him lightly with one hand. "Go on," he says. "I'll clean this up, go get warm."

She… doesn’t know what to do with his unexpected kindness. Bites her lip and looks away, at the mess she'd made - "Hey." His voice draws her back, still lacking its familiar drawl. "What Rip asked you to do was inexcusable," he tells her, voice hardening. "If I can't kill him for it, at least let me help you."

Sara nods hesitantly, and he drops his hand from where it was resting on her shoulder. When she's a few steps away, he says quietly, "I'll be in my room, when you're done. If you want some company." She looks back, still not quite sure what to make of him. And nods.

+++

_shutting down_  
_and_  
_punishing_

+++

It's an hour later that she finally knocks on his door, a little surprised at herself. It slides open immediately, before she's had a chance to talk herself out of it. She wonders if she has Snart or Gideon to blame for that.

He's sitting at his desk, fiddling with the cold gun. Glances up at her with his telltale smirk, a little softened. "Decided to drop by?" If the drawl were there, she doesn't think she'd stay. But it's not.

She tucks her arms across herself defensively, trying to keep herself calm. She doesn't know why she's here, exactly. Looks down and closes her eyes, shaking her head. This was a stupid idea, she's-

"Hey." She blinks. Forces her gaze up. He looks concerned again, and no amount of showering will let her deserve that.

"I don't want to talk." She hardly recognizes her voice, so harsh.

He nods. "Movie?" he asks, as though this were normal, as though they'd always been friends on a time travelling space ship, as though she hadn't almost killed a teammate today. "Gideon makes great popcorn."

Some tiny part of her relaxes at that, just a little.

She nods.

+++

_running from rooms_  
_defending_

+++

Only an hour into the movie she can hardly keep her eyes open. It's… disconcerting. Not only because she's had trouble sleeping since coming back from the dead (well before, but worse since). Not only because she doesn't really know this man, and there are very few people she trusts enough to sleep around.

No, it's because it happens so easily. So quickly. All he has to do is smile and she feels a little better, a little calmer, a little safer.

It's irrational, and yet.

And yet.

She jerks herself from a doze a few minutes later, gasp tearing itself from her lungs before she can help it. She swallows, takes several deep breaths to slow her heartrate. Notices his eyes on her, and feels strangely guilty.

"I don't… I don't sleep much." She doesn't know where the words come from. Why she feels the need to explain herself. As though she'd somehow assigned him to guard her sleep.

"Can't imagine why," he murmurs.

Sara feels her chest cave in, curls in on herself just a little. _It was an animal. Monster. Killer_. "I'm sorry," she whispers, pulling herself upright. Pretends the world doesn't spin, that her vision isn't blurry with tears.

Fingers catch her wrist as she moves to climb from the bed, and it takes everything in her not to break that hold. Break that hand. "Not how I meant it," he says quietly. She wants, suddenly, desperately, just to _stay_. To bury herself in this warmth and safety, to forget all the things that haunt her all day, follow her into her dreams.

But she doesn't deserve to, and she'll never forget that.

She gently breaks his grip, unable to meet his eyes. Wonders what it's like to not be covered in blood, to be able to accept comfort and care freely given.

"Sara." His voice catches her as the door slides open, and she slowly turns back. Stares at a point just over his shoulder. "Door's always open for you," he says, as though it were nothing, as though it didn't knot her stomach. It's all she can do to nod.

+++

_withholding_  
_justifying_

+++

Something about the way Sara _thanks_ Rip for sending in the team sticks heavy in Len's stomach. Not just because it was actually the professor who'd done that. No, it's the way Rip acts like some sort of omnipotent leader dragging himself down to their level on occasion in displays of parental indulgence. The way he manipulates all of them, the fact that he'd called Sara _selfish_ when this entire mission is one born of selfish needs.

But Sara… Sara, for whatever reason, takes it. Internalizes it. It's honestly the last thing Len would've expected from her, and yet, she keeps doing it, again and again. Keeps letting Rip use her, then turn whatever he's had her do right back around on herself.

And maybe he wouldn't care, if he didn't know how badly it was eating away at her.

She's not in the gym or the cargo bay when he looks for her, the two most likely places. He hadn't intended to seek her out, but everything about the last few days has left him vaguely nauseous, a low hum of anxiety he can't shake off.

He finally finds her on one of the upper levels, sitting on the floor by a narrow window running floor to ceiling. Staring out at the remains of her home, what will hopefully soon be only a bad memory.

She glances at him when he sits beside her, but says nothing, just looks back out at the hazy half-lit city. Even in the near-noon light, everything looks washed out and gray. She'd matched quite perfectly in her White Canary suit, he realizes with a shiver.

"He was wrong, you know," he states, when the silence starts to feel oppressive.

Sara glances at him with a small, mirthless smile. "Who, Rip? You're going to have to be more specific."

An easy out, if he wants it. Len keeps his voice serious, answers, "You're not selfish, Sara."

She flinches visibly, eyes pressed tightly closed for a moment, breath hitching. Len slowly, hesitantly reaches over, puts a hand on hers where they're balled in her lap. "You're not selfish," he says again, quiet, no hint of his usual drawl. She has enough people screwing with her head right now to need Captain Cold as well.

He's getting tired of picking up the pieces of her that Rip leaves behind.

They sit in silence for a while, Len listening to her breath shake, feeling her hands tremble. He gently rubs his thumb along the back of one hand, slow and steady, trying to give her something to ground on. He can only imagine how _lost_ she feels right now.

"I hate that I care," she whispers at some point, voice choked.

"I do to," Len murmurs. She sniffles, pulling her hands from his to rub at her eyes. "And that I'm still not allowed to hurt him." She laughs wetly, face still pressed into the palms of her hands.

"I wish he could make up his mind whether I'm supposed to kill teammates to save the future or let my friends and family die to save the future." Her voice only cracks a little on that, and when she leans into his side he lets her. Slips his arm around her waist as she turns to press her forehead to his shoulder, shuddering, breathing forced even.

"When's the last time you slept?" he asks quietly. She makes a small noise of derision, shrugging. "You may be undead, Canary, but I'm pretty sure you still need sleep."

"Is… is your offer still open?" she asks, small and worn. Len blinks, tilting his head to look down at her.

"For you, always."

+++

_these versions of violence  
_ _(sometimes subtle, sometimes clear)_

+++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to pick a prompt from my [bingo card](https://twitter.com/SiriCerasi/status/875406252997722117), feel free to let me know =)


	2. sometimes clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 1x07 "Marooned"

+++

 _diagnosing_  
_analyzing  
_ _unsolicited advice_

+++

It only takes one look at Snart's face for Sara to know she absolutely _cannot_ let him do this.

She trails him as he stalks toward the storage bay where he'd left his gun, lets him ignore her all the way there. Lets him ignore her until she sees the cold gun, and it hits her in the gut, what he's going to do. She says his name sharply, and he continues ignoring her, and Sara has had _enough_.

"Hey, look at me. _Leonard_." She maneuvers herself in front of him, halting his movement. The look he gives her nearly sends her back a step, so hard, so _cold_.

"Get out of my way, Lance."

"You do not need to do this."

"I really do."

" _No_." She slams her hand down on his gun when he tries to pick it up, eliciting a very quiet growl from him. "You are not doing this."

His gaze flicks from his gun to her face, blazing ice, and Sara understands, for just a moment, why so many people are so afraid of him.

"You do not get to decide that," he snarls, low and dangerous; Sara had long ago learned how not to fear dangerous men.

"Like you didn't get to decide I shouldn't kill Stein?" He flinches back, the smallest bit. "But please, go on, tell me how different this is. Tell me how much worse of a person you are, how much more damage Mick could cause than a _Soviet Firestorm_."

“This is not the same and you know it.”

“Yeah, this is _worse_.”

“This is _my responsibility._ ” He leans forward a little into her space, vibrating with anger, and Sara can’t help it: she takes a step back. Something on his face shifts at that, horror and disgust twisting his mouth, darkening his gaze. He drops his head, pulling back with a shaky inhale, releasing his hold on his gun.

Sara takes a moment to make sure her voice is even before saying quietly, “You are not responsible for everything Mick does. He’s an adult, he makes his own dumbass decisions. That doesn’t mean he deserves to die, and it certainly doesn’t mean you deserve to live with killing him.”

"Sara, please, _stop_. I _can't-_ " His voice breaks and he turns away abruptly, hands balled into fists, jaw clenched so tight she can see the muscles flexing. A shudder runs through his entire body, and Sara takes his momentary silence to move closer. "Give me an alternative," he chokes out when she's too close. "Tell me what to do, cause I…" He shrugs, shakes his head, still turned away from her.

Sara chews her lip for a moment, then asks, “Gideon, can you keep a secret?”

+++

 _explaining_  
_and_  
_controlling_

+++

He looks wrecked when he gets back, shivering with far more than just cold. When he sees her waiting just inside the hanger there’s a flash of surprise on his face before he manages to get his cold mask back up, and it makes something in Sara’s chest start to ache.

He hadn’t expected anyone to want to see him, after. Maybe he'd even thought they’d leave him behind, cut their losses.

“Oh, Leonard,” she murmurs to herself, before stepping out into the cold to meet him. It’s misting, not quite raining but enough that Sara shivers. When he reaches her Sara can see he’s soaked through, knuckles white where he’s clutching his gun, nails turning blue. He meets her eyes for a fleeting moment before looking away, and the anguish there makes the ache in her chest a hundred times worse.

“Come on,” she says softly when he slows in front of her, gun dangling from numb fingers. He trails behind her, dropping the gun the moment they’re inside. He’s shivering harder now, or maybe shaking; Sara can’t tell. “Gideon, is he in shock?” she asks, moving carefully into his space before pressing her hand to his forehead, sliding her fingers down to his pulse point. He’s far too cold, and his heart is racing, which Gideon confirms.

“Quite likely a combination of both shock and hypothermia,” the AI announces.

Sara sighs, tugs at his parka. “Okay, take this off, it’s soaked.” He blinks sluggishly. “Snart, pay attention,” Sara says sharply. “Jacket off, now.” He slowly obeys, flinching a little as Sara pulls at the parka to speed him up. “Come on, crook. Faster you go, faster you’ll get warm.”

She thinks of him coming back to an empty hanger and is suddenly blindingly angry at the rest of the team, wonders if any of them have even bothered to check that he’s alive.

He lets the jacket drop to the floor and Sara leaves it, ushering him from the room. He moves in a daze, still trembling violently, eyes still not quite focusing on anything. When they reach his room he finally seems to come back to himself, at least a little, shoulders dropping listlessly.

“Okay, crook, you need to get out of those wet clothes. I’m gonna go get us something warm to drink.” He doesn’t answer, just stands in the middle of the room staring at a lighter on his desk. Mick’s. Sara closes her eyes for a moment, swallows the lump in her throat as she moves into his line of sight. “Leonard, I need you to do this, and then you can be as miserable as you want. Just get into some dry clothes, okay?”

He blinks owlishly, gaze not quite focused as she moves into his space.

"You need to warm up," she repeats gently. She can _see_ him shaking, teeth close to chattering. There's a spasm of… _pain_ on his face, and for a moment Sara is afraid he's injured, afraid Mick managed to do some final damage.

But then he whispers, "Please don't go," gaze fixed on the floor, and she understands. Understands far, far too well, and before she can think or he can protest she's wrapped him in her arms, holds his trembling body as close as she can.

"I’ll be right back," she promises. He's so _cold_. "But we need to get you warm. One bout of hypothermia is enough for one day." He makes a noise that could be a laugh, another time. Now it just makes Sara tighten her arms.

He's soaked through, though, and Sara is still recovering from her last near-frozen experience. "Come on," she coaxes, rubbing his back once before pulling back. "Dry clothes, crook. Now. I'm going to go get us something warm to drink."

He takes a shuddering breath, head down, not looking at her. "Hot chocolate?" he mumbles. Sara can't help smiling.

"With mini marshmallows," she promises.

+++

 _judging_  
_opining_  
_meddling_

+++

She runs into Rip on her way to the mess, to his misfortune. She'd spoken with Jax while waiting for Leonard to return, and he'd told her all the shitty things the captain had said to Mick. It's not an excuse, but...

But Sara will take it directed at her; at her team? Not so much.

Rip is lucky her concern for Leonard outweighs her bloodlust right now.

Still, she finds herself holding him against the wall with a knife to his throat all the same.

"Miss Lance, what...?" he sputters.

"You know, I didn't quite get why he was always so upset that I listened to you." Rip's forehead crinkles in confusion at her words. He opens his mouth to speak and Sara bites, "I get it now, though." Tilts her head and watches him squirm. "Also get why he was so annoyed he couldn't kill you."

Rip's eyes widen at that, and Sara sighs. He really has no fucking clue. The rage that had begun to pulse sluggishly through her melts away, leaves her hollow and weary and cold. She drop her hand, lets him sag back with a hand to him neck. “Snart's back,” she tells him dully. “Rory's not.”

He’s eyeing her like a wild animal, mutters, “Yes, I’m aware. Gideon informed me.”

“You’re aware,” she repeats. She could kill him right now and not flinch, not even blink.

She walks away without another word.

+++

 _this labeling_  
_this pointing_  
_this sting i've been ignoring_

+++

He's wrapped in a blanket when she returns, hunched at the foot of his bed. Sara raises her eyebrows and just states, "People sitting on the floor don't get hot chocolate"

He glares balefully; Sara shrugs. Puts the two mugs on the shelf at the end of the bed and covers herself with every remaining blanket before taking her cup, swatting at his hand as he tries to grab one. "I will stab you," she warns.

"That's supposed to encourage me to sit next to you?"

It does, eventually. His hands shake as he finally gets his mug, and Sara thinks about all the ways she could torture Rip. Or maybe Mick. Both? She repositions some of her blankets to cover bother of them, shivering when her hands brush his fingers. “God, you’re freezing,” she mutters. He makes a vague noise, slowly sipping from his mug. Sara presses up against him, still shivering, suddenly almost as cold as in the engine room. At least they have blankets this time.

He doesn't protest when she raises a hand to his forehead again, lets her tuck several more blankets over him, then later take his empty mug from limp fingers. _Shock_ , a small part of her brain whispers, but she knows it's something more than that. She knows that, for all that Leonard was the boss, for all that he kept Mick in check, Mick also took care of him. Protected him. Stood up for him. And now, he doesn't have that, and she thinks this blankness is the only way he can keep from sheer panic.

Until she shifts away to put their cups down, and then his breath catches painfully in his throat, gaze snapping to her. “D-don’t…” He flushes, looking away. Sara sets the mugs down and settles back in front of him, legs crossed.

"Len," she says softly. His hands shake when she takes them in hers.

"He's gone," he whispers, and his voice is so small, so terrified, it's like a physical blow.

"I know." She strokes her thumbs against his palms, trying to soothe him. "But you're not. And I'm not." His eyes flick to hers, hopeful and despairing. "I know I'm not Mick, but I will stand up for you. Okay?"

“Will you-“ His voice catches painfully. “Will you just sit with me for a while?”

Sara’s heart breaks in two.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, pulling him toward her. “Yeah, Len, as long as you want.” She cups his head gently to her shoulder, can feel the awful little sobs that rip through him. Thinks of him dealing with this alone and has to blink back tears. “I’m right here, crook” she whispers. “I’m right here.”

+++

 _(and the ones that go unnoticed)_  
_(still leave their mark once disappeared)_

+++


End file.
